TMR Bingo
by okie-dokie-artichokie
Summary: (Based off of a TMR Bingo Card. Covers the squares: Share a bed, Game Night, Secret Relationship, Jealous, and Christmas.) Contains Newtmas, Minewt, and bits of Thominewt. Most of it is fluff.
1. Share a Bed

This is a string of Maze Runner oneshots for a TMR Bingo Card I found online. Most of the chapters include Newtmas or Thominewt. I haven't written, let alone posted, fanficton for a long time though, so please don't be too hateful if you leave a review.

Please Enjoy. :)

(Disclamers)

I do not own The Maze Runner Series, nor am I affiliated with it/James Dashner.

All mistakes are mine, as I do not have a beta.

* * *

 **Chapter 1 : "Sharing a Bed"**

As Newt walked into the infirmary, his limp was even more pronounced than usual. That was Thomas' first hint that something was amiss. He then noticed the sheen of sweat coating the blonde's forehead and the invisible weights that seemed to pull Newt down. Taking a closer look, he came to see the other's eyes, red as blood and as puffy as the pillow Thomas had under his head.

"You look pretty shucking awful there," Clint piped up from where he sat, taking the temperature of a sick Glader.

"Oh, bloody slim it, Clint," Newt shot back, a thick and natural hatred sticking to his tone.

He _did_ look awful, Thomas concluded. Newt looked even worse than him.

The Glade had gone into an outbreak of new disease, unlike any Alby, Newt or even the med jacks had ever come across. They all assumed it was just another of the variables WCKED had decided to send in their brutal little maze expirament. Nevertheless, they all did their best to stay free of it. Unfortunately, Thomas had become one of the disease's first victims. He and the handful of other Gladers who had contracted it had been forced to quarantine in the infirmary, but even with the added effort, people were still getting sick left and right. They were running out of beds to put them in.

Newt had been aware of his own sickness from the beginning, but chose to ignore it, claiming he had things to do and a Glade to run. He almost thought he had fought it off by sheer willpower until he woke up that morning feeling like a pile of klunk with legs. That was when he decided to give up and admit himself, and that the reasoning for how he ended up in a room of 'red-eyed shanks trying to keep their breakfast down', as he had so kindly referred to the group, not a few days before. Now he begrudgingly found himself as one of them.

"Sorry, Newt. You'll have to buddy up to a bed. We've got more shanks than we know what to do with at this point," Jeff interrupted, putting a stop to the argument before it began. Newt was usually the one to put an end to whatever disagreement took place, but the medjack knew that, as sick as Newt must have been feeling, he would likely be the one to start them.

" _Fine_ ," he responded after a moment, turning his attention away from Clint, "I'll just bunk with Tommy here."

Thomas sat up slowly and almost a bit sluggishly. His head pounded in a sharp plead to lie back down, but he ignored it, making room for his friend.

"How long have _you_ been here?"

Thomas thought. "A couple of days, I guess. It makes it hard to keep track of time when there's only one window and about a dozen… shanks between it and me." The Glader slang almost sounded like a question on his tongue.

Newt laughed softly under his breath. "Minho was right. You do sound bloody stupid when you try talking like us."

"Whatever," Thomas frowned.

* * *

Hours later, when night had fallen over the Maze and the doors had long since closed, the Glade's newfound disease wasn't the only thing keeping Thomas and Newt up.

"Bloody move over, you shank," Newt pushed on Thomas.

" _You_ move over. You're a freaking stick. You don't need that much room," Thomas pushed back.

"Watch it, Greenie."

"I've been here for over a month, I'm not Greenie anymore."

"Just slim it and move over, _Greenie_."

"I _said_ don't call me _Greenie_ ," Thomas insisted, jamming his elbow into Newt's ribs. It earned a sharp groan from the blonde.

"That's it!" Newt had had enough with being sick, but more importantly, he had had enough of Thomas at the moment. With a hard shove to his side and loud thump on the floor, Thomas found himself sprawled out awkwardly on the wooden floor.

"Alright, Tommy," Newt's whisper had gained a false sweetness to it, "I'm going to go back to sleep now. Sleep tight. Don't let the bloody _Grievers_ bite."

Thomas wondered briefly if Grievers even had any mouths to bite with.

* * *

The morning had the two in better shape, their mood and health lightened by good hours of sleep. They weren't the first to wake up though, and were hence subject to what followed because of it.

"Hey wake up, you shanks. You need to get a room or somethin. I'm sick of looking at you two doing that."

Newt kept his eyes shut to the morning light and in favor, held on to his last moments of sleep. "What are _you_ doing here? Shouldn't you be out in the Maze figuring a way to get us out of here?" He recognized Minho's voice the moment he heard it.

"Haven't you heard the news? Half of all the runners are sick. And that's including yours truly and your little teddy-bear over there."

"What?" Newt replied unintelligibly.

Minho laughed in response before breaking out into a fit of coughs.

Newt opened his eyes and looked straight ahead to see Thomas still asleep, wrapped up in his arms. He faced Newt, his breath softly brushing up against the older Glader's neck with every exhale he took. A hot blush spread up to Newt's face as he remembered Minho was watching him, and likely every other sick patient awake in the room.

"I said, _move over_ , Greenie."

With that, Thomas found himself pushed to the floor again, awaking to a room full of laughter and a red-faced Newt.


	2. Game Night

"Where'd you learn this again?"

Thomas stood tall to get a look through the bathroom window. He ducked down again. He could hear the creaking of shower pipes as water rained down against hard tile. "Chuck taught me-when I first got here."

"That little shuck-face?" Minho started to ask, but cut himself off after a look at Thomas's face. Thomas loved the kid like a brother, and as obnoxious as he knew Chuck could be sometimes, Thomas still didn't like when people talked badly about him. Minho knew that well enough and rephrased his question. "He's the one that's been doing this every night?"

Thomas smiled, almost fondly. "Yeah, that's him.

"Kid almost scared the klunk outta me one time by doing that." Minho's lips curved into a smirk. "It'll be fun to make some other shank feel like that. Just wish we could've had our own little Chucky-boy as our victim."

"Yeah, well he's busy with some other stuff, but I bet he would have loved to be here for this."

Minho nodded. "Good that. You ready?"

Thomas nodded in return.

On a count of three, both Thomas and Minho yelled at the top of their lungs. Minho beat his fist against the glass for an added effect. As a reward for their efforts, there was a slipping noise and a heavy falling sound from inside the bathroom.

Minho burst into a fit of laughter as he watched Newt rush out into the open, covered in nothing but a towel.

"Lookin good, Newt," he whistled in a moment of sobriety.

Newt's face was that of both surprise and anger, and he held onto his towel so tight, his knuckles turned white.

"Oh, you think you're so bloody funny." He turned to Thomas, who had held back the majority of his laughter surprisingly well. "And you, you shank, bloody slim it, will you?"

"Hey, don't take it out on poor Thomas. He was just showing me a fun game, weren't you, Thomas?"

"Minho said that he needed a break from mapping. He said if he spent another second in that room, he'd go insane with trying to figure a way out."

"So you decided to scare me out of my wits in the shower?"

"Hey, fun is fun," Minho interjected, "And I needed fun. Fun is a distraction."

"Well you have a sick sense of fun," Newt crossed his arms.

"Ah, don't be such a sourpuss." Minho leaned over and gave Newt a quick kiss on the cheek to show everything was alright.

"You're bloody lucky you and Thomas are cute."


	3. Secret Relationships

Sorry for the slow updates. I've been busy with work. I only have two more chapters to go for this prompt. I'll try to get them done before too long. Thank you all so much for the views and favorites, reviews and follows! 3

* * *

"C'mon, just a little further."

"Why do we have to sneak around again?" Thomas questioned. He followed close behind Minho and Newt, clutching one of their hands in each of his, as they tugged him through another patch of what he swore looked like Poison Ivy. He wondered briefly if the Creators would even put such a thing in here.

"Because, you dumb shuck, if Alby sees you and me going all sweet on each other, he's gonna start suggesting we don't run in the Maze together anymore."

"Alright." he could see Minho's point in that. Alby wouldn't want him or Minho to have any kind of a distraction when they were trying to find a way out of the Glade and Maze. "But what about Newt?"

Newt gave a squeeze to Thomas' hand as if to prove he was listening and had heard the mention of his name.

"You bloody shanks think I'm going to let you have all the fun out here by yourselves?" Thomas couldn't help but notice the slight curve of a smile on Newt's lips as he spoke. Newt might seem like a real hot-head to everyone else in the Glade, but he and Minho both knew he was mostly talk when it came down to most things.

Minho laughed softly as though he was thinking the same thing.

The three walked together for a bit longer before coming to halt near one of the corners of the Glade, the one where Thomas had recently claimed as his own personal area to sleep. He just found the quiet solitude of it so much more comfortable than the area around the Homestead where everyone else slept, scattered out on the stone floor. Tucked away in the lush green that scaled the unbelievably tall walls, he could forget about how messed up all of this was, how messed up his life had become, or had always been.

Being with Newt and Minho almost seemed to have the same effect.

"I honestly don't know how you can sleep back here all by yourself." Minho might not get the idea, but Thomas knew it well.

"What, are you trying to suggest sleeping back here with me?"

"No. I prefer an actual bed, thank you."

"Not _all_ of us can sleep in the Homestead, remember Minho?" Newt chimed in. "It'd be so cramped, I'd probably end up killing Tommy over here."

"Good that," Thomas agreed.

"Oh bloody slim it. You don't have to _agree_ with me on that, you know. You make me sound bloody awful."

"You said it yourself first."

"Like I said, _slim it_ ," Newt replied, leaning over to give Minho and Thomas a quick kiss.

Thomas wasn't the biggest fan of their relationship being such a big secret, but he knew it had its advantages, like being alone with these two for the first time all day. He definitely enjoyed that.


	4. Jealous

Newt stood by the Maze doors, waiting for Thomas and Minho to coming running out from the deadly labyrinth surrounding their home. He looked at the sky. It was a mix of pale reds and oranges as the sun began to set, far over the walls of the Glade. The doors would be closing soon, but Newt had faith in his boys. He knew it was only a matter of time before he would be watching them race out into the clearing, gasping for air after their day's work.

It wasn't customary for the Gladers to all join at the doors and greet the Runners as they returned from their day, but it was something Newt and Alby, as leaders, had taken to whenever they had the chance. Newt had begun to make more and more of an effort towards that chance though, ever since he, Thomas and Minho had become somewhat of an item.

He bent his head down for a brief second to double-check the time on his watch when he felt a gust of wind rush past him.

Minho was back.

He ran past Newt and a few meters more, slowing his pace to a jog, and then finally a brisk walk. He turned himself around and came to stand by Newt.

"C'mon, Thomas! You're gonna be late, you dumb shuck!" Minho yelled into the Maze.

Newt looked at the Runner. He could tell that, even with the insults, Minho only wanted to make sure his point got through to the younger Glader. Thomas had spent a night in the Maze before, but Newt really didn't think he would want to do it again. More than anything though, the smile on Minho's face was what broke away the hard exterior of his personality, showing the unconditional love he had inside.

"I said I'm hurrying!" There was a quirk of his lips as he spoke, adding the word 'shank' as an almost afterthought to the sentence. A short laugh mixed with his heavy breathing as he ran the last few feet, following Minho's path.

"Sorry, we're a little more late than usual." Thomas placed his hands over his knees as he stood talking, his words delivered between breaths.

"What did you do? Stop for a snogging session?" Newt tilted his head towards the two.

Minho and Thomas exchanged a quick glance with one another before turning their attention back to Newt. His face had gone an angry shade of red in that short time.

"Are you bloody kidding me? I would think that you two, above all people would know how bloody dangerous the Maze is!"

"Exactly."

"Exactly?" Newt raised his eyebrows in question at Minho.

"Exactly," Minho repeated, pulling Thomas up and into a tight hug. "I know the Maze better than anyone here, twists, turns, the whole shucking thing. Thomas here was more than safe with me to make it out on time, so why not take a moment for ourselves?"

"He's right, you know?" Thomas shrugged his way out from the death grip he had been forced into.

"Slim it, Tommy," Newt hissed.

"Aw, it sounds like you're just jealous we didn't include you out there."

"You too, Minho. Just bloody slim it."

"Take a good look, Thomas. This is jealousy at its finest."

"I'm not jealous!"

"Sure, you're not…"

"You guys, please stop," Thomas attempted to intervene.

Minho shrugged it off with a laugh. "Not until Newt admits he's jealous."

"I'd sooner sleep with Gally."


End file.
